Assistance
by absolutelycancerous
Summary: "Preparing to cook," she mumbles, though it is very clear to him she's not necessarily talking about food, "just sampling."


"Soul! I need your help, please!"

He really hates cooking.

Soul slides up from his perch (more like his messy nest at the piano's keys) and makes sure none of his music falls, walks casually to the kitchen to see Maka attempting to do a million different things at once and nothing all at the same time. She looks at him, smiles like the dork she is, and sighs in relief.

"Thanks—hold this?"

Too late for him to reject, she's already shoving one of their small bowls into his hand filled with something liquid-y—he thinks it's egg whites. Soul stands in the kitchen awkwardly, since _everything_ seems to be in her way, and waits for her to snap at him to move to somewhere in particular.

However, she just bustles around a little more, fills another bowl with water, and turns to him to put it in his other hand.

"What am I even d—"

She kisses him—this is a trick! He feels her grinning against his mouth, her warm little hands sliding up under his T-shirt and running back to meet together on his shoulder blades before she scrapes her nails lightly across the skin there, swallowing the little grunt he makes into her mouth.

"Careful," she warns him, breathily against his lips. Her eyes are half-lidded, her smile Cheshire-esque, "Better not make a mess, Soul."

She's cruel. She's evil, she's, she's—

She's _unbuttoning his jeans_.

"A-aren't you cooking something?" He weakly tries to protest, but Maka shoots him the sneakiest little grin before she moves to nibble on his earlobe, slowly pulling down his fly and making him sigh out a brief moan.

"Preparing to _cook_," she mumbles, though it is very clear to him she's not necessarily talking about food, "just sampling."

She moves down his neck, suckles enough to leave a mark there, while her talented little hands move to cup and stroke him through his boxers, feeling out the shape of his hardening cock and moving her hand around it, particularly running her thumb against the head, which elicits a very enthralled "_oh!_" from Soul. Maka grins against his skin, leaves his neck with a kiss and her saliva cooling there as she drops down to her knees, does a sexy little wiggle to get comfy in front of him without crushing his toes under her legs.

"Let's see," she hums thoughtfully, smiling as her fingers tap against his hip bones, more particularly, the waistband of his boxers. There is an obvious tent pitched at Crotchtown and Maka is deliberately ignoring it, deciding instead to watch him stand uncomfortably, balancing each bowl of liquid torture in his palms as he watches her from above, mouth parted and eyes heavy as they watch her thoughtful torture.

"Should these come off, you think?"

He whimpers, accidentally, and then clears his throat to answer properly, "Definitely."

Maka hums in thought again, running her warm palms down to his thighs, where she rubs teasing circles on the insides of his legs with a smile. He sighs, tries to wiggle his hips but decides against it, lest he drop the goddamn bowls in his hands; she's a sneaky little thing.

"Better have just a little taste."

He tries to respond, but words fail him, and he ends up groaning when she helps his cock out of his boxers, runs her hands all over him and makes a lustful noise, a wanton sigh as she tucks a hand under his balls, lightly massaging them in her careful hands and slowly riving him mad—she knows all the right buttons to push.

"How _smooth_," she marvels in that soft voice again, the one that makes shivers race up and down his spine. She inches nearer, and he expects her to put her mouth on him, but not yet! Maka merely nuzzles her lips against him, her cheek, and while her face is a little red, it's still a little cold on his dick—nonetheless, the chaste action has him spreading his legs a little, leaning back only a little in order to tip his hips that little bit forward; he _**wants**_.

"Don't get so eager," she reminds him with an evil little grin, "messes mean less time on the main course."

He grumbles an apology, and is quickly rewarded by sweet, warm, wet bliss—her mouth leaving open-mouth kisses on his cock, her tongue licking briefly at the side before she moves to take the tip into her molten mouth, run her tongue slowly over the head and under his shaft before she slowly moves down, down, down, then back again. It's slow and pretty sadistic, and Soul would really love to just grab her hair and fuck her mouth as fast as his hips can allow, but he'll make a fucking mess, and he can barely move his hips when he doesn't have any anchorage with his hands preoccupied like this.

Thus, Maka build the foundation of her new favorite game: Silence is Apparently Golden. For when Soul moans loudly, she makes sure to slow down, to a near-stop, only flicking her tongue against the tip and giving his dick a few kisses as he tries to settle himself. When he struggles to keep quiet, she works him as hard as he'd work himself, hooking her fingers into his belt loops in order to move his hips as fast as she can move her mouth along his cock.

Soul quickly learns to stay quiet.

Maka is nearly sending him off balance with the way she's yanking his jeans to control his hips, but Soul just spreads his legs a little better and unlocks his knees to avoid falling back and most likely slamming his head on the table; it'd be worth it, though, her mouth is a fucking amazing place. She skirts her teeth against him every now and then, probably by accident, but nothing that makes him uncomfortable; in fact, it makes him whimper in loud sighs when she does. She looks unbelievably hot, with hollow cheeks and eyebrows pulled together—when she starts moaning around his cock, he nearly chokes on his tongue; it somehow makes everything hotter, knowing that she's enjoying this, too.

His orgasm builds up rapidly in his lower stomach, coiling tight until one of her hands sneaks down into his pants to grab his balls again, give them a nice little tug and that's it, he's a moaning mess, howling up to the ceiling about how fucking great she is and fuck, **fuck**, he's _coming_!

A panting mess, Soul slowly lowers his head down to her, watching her slide off his dick with a "pop!" and a dainty hand to her mouth as she wipes her drool from her chin embarrassingly. She shifts a little on the floor, finds her knees _hurt_ from kneeling on the tile, and sighs with a little smile as Soul sets the bowls on the table (finally!) and hooks her under the arms to lift her to her feet, which is a struggle in itself with his pants hanging below his twitching dick and his knees very close to jelly.

Soul sets to tucking himself into his pants then, only to have Maka pressing herself up against him one again, humming thoughtfully against her neck.

"Actual food will be done in twenty."

He drums his fingers up, up, up her side, sneaking in a grope or two as he kisses her temple. "That's all?"

"You'd better be feeling up to _cooking_ in an hour, is what I'm saying."

Soul laughs as she untangles herself from him and grabs the two bowls from the table to move them onto the counter.

Cooking maybe isn't as bad as he assumed, Soul amends as he steals a handful of croutons and has Maka throwing a wooden spoon at his back as he escapes to the piano once more.


End file.
